


our soft lullaby

by theprinceschamberlain



Series: Supernatural Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprinceschamberlain/pseuds/theprinceschamberlain
Summary: It's the night before their final Reaping (thank god) and Dean wants to spend it with Jimmy beneath the midnight sky in the open field outside District 12. 
Maybe if he loses himself in the stars, he can pretend that clenching feeling in his heart isn't a sign of bad things to come.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Supernatural Prompt Challenge](http://supernaturalpromptchallenge.tumblr.com) September 2016 "childhood"-themed prompt "curfew." 
> 
> so i'd originally thought i'd write something happy and fluffy, maybe a high school au where they sneak out to go make out in the impala, but then. well. then i thought about how dystopian societies typically have some sort of enforced curfew, and then i thought about the hunger games, and then this happened. it's not too angst-y, but if you know the hunger games, then you should know the innate sort of angst that comes with the territory lol 
> 
> ((also i've been listening to simple man ft. jensen ackles on repeat for like a century now i need help))

From the window in the kitchen above the sink, Dean watches as the last of the sunlight disappears below the horizon. He continues scrubbing at the bowl in his hands, getting off the remnants of venison stew from dinner that night. He rinses it quickly and sets it aside to dry in the dish rack and dries his hands on his pants.

The house is quiet as he goes to check on Sammy, finding him curled up on his bed with a book and reading in the soft glow of a lantern.

Sammy looks up as he leans against the door. “You going out?”

“For a little while. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time to do your hair tomorrow morning,” he teases, and Sammy huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean walks into the room, reaching out a hand to ruffle Sam’s hair, grinning as Sammy tries to bat it away. “Don’t stay up too late, little man.”

“I’m not the one breaking curfew,” Sammy shoots back, and Dean has to give him that.

He leans down to press a kiss to Sammy’s head, telling him goodnight, and then he leaves the room, heading to the living room. He glances at the couch, where Dad’s snoring lightly. Dean goes to the kitchen and fills a cup with water, bringing it out and setting it on the floor by Dad’s face, streaked black with coal and other mine dust. His chest rises and falls in steady rhythm. For better or worse, Dean can’t smell any whiskey on his breath.

Dean pushes himself up and heads to the front, grabbing his jacket and shrugging into it. Peering out the small window next to the door, Dean watches as a Peacekeeper walks by on patrol. He waits until the white of the uniform is out of sight, and quietly slips out the door.

Dirt crunches underfoot as Dean slips through the night, keeping to the shadows of ramshackle buildings and out of the light of Peacekeeper patrols. It doesn’t take long to reach the gate surrounding District 12. Glancing left and right, and seeing no one around, Dean ducks under the dormant electric wires and out into the open grasslands that border his home district.

As soon as he’s out of earshot of any patrols, Dean takes off at a jog through the field. He maneuvers expertly along the light footpath that’s beginning to take shape, pounded into the ground from the many trips outside the gate he’s taken since discovering he could leave. He only ever goes two places, though: the forest, for hunting meat to sell, and the meadow surrounded by tall grass – his current destination.

He slows his pace as he arrives, stepping carefully through the grass to make as little noise as possible. Even so far away, Dean can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching, that, one day, someone will show up to take him away for breaking the rules. He’s heard the stories about those carted off by the Peacekeepers. No one ever hears from them again. Whether they end up locked away, or dead, or worse, no one can say.

A rustle to his left snaps him to alert, and Dean’s hand is on the knife in his boot before he takes another step. When a soft, familiar chuckle reaches him, his shoulders relax and he takes a deep breath, almost chastised.

“One of these days, you’re going to stab me,” Jimmy’s voice carries to him, rueful and teasing at the same time. Dean shakes his head, walking the last few steps into the meadow and smiling down at the blue eyes looking back at him.

“I couldn’t stab you if I wanted to,” Dean admits, and Jimmy grins, leaning into the kiss Dean presses against his lips as he sits.

“That kind of attitude will get you killed in the Games,” Jimmy murmurs quietly, looking off into the distance. Dean’s jaw clenches briefly, and he pulls Jimmy closer.

“We’re not gonna have to worry about that,” Dean says decisively, like if he says it enough, it’ll be true. “We’ve made it this far. They’re not gonna choose us.”

Jimmy hums noncommittally, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, because they both know it’s just empty platitudes. Anyone can be chosen; it doesn’t matter whether they only have their name in once or thirty times. He lies back, head in Dean’s lap, and Dean watches him stare up at the sky, eyes travelling over constellations and galaxies, shining in the light of the moon. Dean cards his hand through Jimmy’s dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his thumb caresses Jimmy’s warm cheek. For now, they enjoy the peace and quiet of their secluded spot.

“You could win,” Jimmy says sometime later. He’s grabbed Dean’s other hand and tangled their fingers together on his chest, and caresses Dean’s knuckles with his thumb. “You’re strong, determined. You could do it.”

“I don’t want to have to.” Dean keeps his eyes on the stars. They twinkle cheerfully, teasingly. Mockingly. “I don’t want to have to win.”

_But you might have to. You might have to win._

“Let’s talk about something else,” Dean says, words hurried, like he can’t get away from the previous subject fast enough. “We came out here to escape our shitty lives for a while. Let’s—” He cuts off, takes a breath. _I don’t want to think about tomorrow._ “Please. Anything else. How was school today?”

Jimmy squeezes his hand, an acquiescence and apology. “The kids learn so fast,” Jimmy tells him, letting talk of the Reaping and the Games drop. “I love seeing them work so hard. They were having so much fun during craft time today.”

Dean smiles. The image of a bunch of six-year-olds running around with paint and glue and glitter – all luxuries that they only get once every few years – lifts the heaviness in his chest just a little bit.

“Was Amelia flirting with you again?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows down at Jimmy. Jimmy snorts, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Jimmy defends. “When I told her I’m taken, she took it with grace and has been nothing but friendly and kind. I like her.”

Dean chuckles, curling in on himself enough to kiss Jimmy’s lips from upside down. “I’m only teasing,” he says.

“I know,” Jimmy sighs, and he reaches up to hold Dean’s head down so he can kiss him again. “But there’s no reason for you to be jealous.”

Dean scoffs half-heartedly, feeling his cheeks heat. “I’m not _jealous._ ”

“Sure, Dean,” Jimmy says, and kisses him again.

The angle is awkward, so Dean shifts to lie beside Jimmy, and Jimmy rolls over to face him, continuing their kisses. It’s soft, unhurried, just the two of them enjoying the other’s presence. It’s the kind of moment Dean wishes could last forever, just him and Jimmy together with only the stars as company.

It’s always there, though, in the back of his mind. Telling him this isn’t going to last, that they’ll have to leave their little bubble of peace and return to the real world. They’ll have to wake up tomorrow, and dress nice, and go stand in the heat while a representative from the Capitol comes to take one boy and one girl away with them to fight against twenty-two others in a sadistic lesson about disobedience and false unity.

_I don’t want to have to win._

Eventually, their kisses slow and stop, and Jimmy tucks his head under Dean’s chin. Dean runs his hands up his back, massaging in slow circles, just wanting to be touching him.

Softly, like he doesn’t want to disturb what peace they have, Jimmy asks, “Will you sing it for me?”

Dean presses a kiss on the top of Jimmy’s head, and says, “Yeah.”

And, just as softly, he sings the lullaby his mother used to sing to him, before the fire that took her life. It’s an old song, from back before the war that created the districts and the Capitol, before the Games ever existed. It’s somber, melancholic, but he likes the words.

He sings until he feels Jimmy’s breathing even out and knows he’s asleep. He presses another kiss to Jimmy’s head and lies back to stare up at the stars. They still twinkle cheerfully down at him.

_I don’t want to have to win._

_Please don’t make me have to._

When the sky begins to lighten, Dean stirs Jimmy awake, and they make their way back to the gate. They slip in unnoticed, and walk hand in hand to Jimmy’s home, where Dean kisses him one more time before heading to his own home. He checks on Dad and Sammy and then heads to his own little bed, collapsing in it with a sigh. There’s only a few hours until the Reaping. He closes his eyes and hums the lullaby to himself until he falls asleep.

 

> _Boy, don’t you worry; you’ll find yourself._  
>  _Follow your heart and nothing else._  
>  _You can do this, oh, baby, if you try._  
>  _All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied._
> 
> _And be a simple kind of man._  
>  _Be something you love and understand._  
>  _Baby, be a simple kind of man._  
>  _Won’t you do this for me, son, if you can?_

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hi on tumblr c:](http://chuckshvrley.tumblr.com)


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